


The mirrors lie, those aren’t my eyes

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, Masturbation, Mirrors, Pittsburgh Penguins, Subtext, Suggestive Gen, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sidney looks at his reflection in the mirror and cringes at the face that stares back.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The mirrors lie, those aren’t my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [this prompt](http://www.nullrefer.com/?http://panda-check.livejournal.com/193686.html?thread=769942#t769942) at the [hockey kink meme](http://www.nullrefer.com/?http://panda-check.livejournal.com/193686.html). 
> 
> Title from “Seven,” by Sunny Day Real Estate.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Sidney looks at his reflection in the mirror and cringes at the face that stares back. He still hasn’t gotten used to seeing _that_ face peering out at him, as if Ovechkin is trapped on the other side of the mirror.

It’s been two weeks since Sidney woke up and his face wasn’t his own.

Ovechkin’s teammates have noticed things are different, that he-- Ovechkin is different. The media is wondering if he’s playing hurt, because they’ve never known him to be this tentative.

He hasn’t scored in a week. He isn’t used to this body.

Sidney’s heard the comments about his play, and even though the criticism isn’t exactly meant for _him_ , it still bothers him a little bit.

He wonders what Ovechkin’s doing in Pittsburgh, hopes that he isn’t tearing down all the good work Sidney’s done for himself. He hasn’t been paying much attention to the Penguins since everything happened. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to.

He reaches up and paws a hand through long, unfamiliar hair. He entertains the thought of cutting it. He wants to leave behind a little bit of himself for Ovechkin to find when this is all over. Sort of like a time capsule. But hair grows back. It won’t last.

-

Sidney gets out of Ovechkin’s bed, immediately misses the feel of the soft sheets against this skin he’s wearing that isn’t his, and pads to the bathroom. He forces himself to look in the mirror and prods at a fresh scar on his cheek. Some guy Ovechkin apparently has bad blood with had gone at him the night before, opened up a gash on his cheek. Ovechkin will have that, at least, when he returns.

He stares at Ovechkin’s reflection and touches an older, silvery scar on his chest, wonders what the history is behind it. He moves his hand lower, down Ovechkin’s chest. He hasn’t touched himself in weeks and he wants to, so badly, but this isn’t his body. It isn’t him. It almost feels like a violation of sorts.

“He’d never know,” Sidney says to the mirror, and Ovechkin’s voice comes out of his mouth, oddly unaccented. He’s had to work to keep Ovechkin’s teammates from wondering too much why their best player is suddenly not himself anymore, and they still suspect something’s up.

Sidney’s conscience tugs at the back of his brain.

He wonders what Ovechkin’s been doing to and with his body since the change happened. He wonders what _he’ll_ find once he’s himself.

Sidney reaches into his boxers and wraps a hand around his-- no, not his, Ovechkin’s-- dick. It even feels different, just a little bit bigger and heavier, and it’s not the same. He can’t help the swell of disappointment in his chest, and he feels silly for it-- for all of it.

Sidney strokes slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the face in the mirror. Ovechkin’s head tilts back slightly and his eyes slip shut. He can’t see Ovechkin’s face staring back at him while he uses his body this way, and it’s probably for the best.

As he slowly works himself over, he wonders idly how Ovechkin’s like in bed. Whether or not he’s this quiet, like Sidney is, or if he curses, groans, gasps his pleasure. Sidney hates himself for letting his mind wander, especially to _that_.

He imagines it’s Ovechkin’s hand on him, not his own.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
